


Chrysalis Completionist

by GodOfCats



Series: Fanatic Fiction [2]
Category: Multi-Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 22:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20514512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodOfCats/pseuds/GodOfCats
Summary: A short story about a once-lonely person and the sick they look after.





	Chrysalis Completionist

One hundred rooms. Six hundred locks. One in each bathroom. Five on each door.

The hotel wasn’t always like this. I had it remodelled. It was expensive but Dads life insurance paid for the hotel. Moms paid for the locks. It was a necessary sacrifice. And worth every penny. Never a cent wasted. This is my paradise now. Where would I be without it?

I retreated from the world when I was sixteen. Five years before the infection. Seven before Dad got infected. They all started hiding away then, but I was ahead of the curve. In my paradise, I’ve almost forgotten about what the outside world was like back then. A hell, wasn’t it? A cluster of unconnected individuals with selfish desires. Social. Animals. They’ll tear you apart to please the pack so the pack will please them. I could never understand them. This world was never meant for us to live in. It’s far too cruel for that. So I gave up on trying. Like an addict clean, being rid of the habit filled me relief. Freeing. Gave me time to focus on finding better worlds. Positive worlds. An easier existence.

Fiction.

Games. Cartoons. Manga. Comics. Anime.

The simple fact we dreamed up superior realities is proof of my point. We were all so unhappy back then. So unhappy. We knew this world was unideal. It cannot be denied. So why did you all choose to live in it?

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Two towels for every room. Five rolls of toilet paper. Three meals a day. All through the slot on every door. The wheels on the cart snap me from my unpleasant thoughts. The halls in the hotel are long, and almost every room is filled. I can hear the sounds from within the rooms. Most can talk. Some cannot. I don’t mind. My loves come in all shapes, sizes and smells. I collect the soiled and empty articles from the slot at the bottom of the door and slide in the fresh resources. This keeps them safe and happy and cared for.

Do we not all want to be cared for and pampered?

I must have been a disgrace to my parents because they were content to leave me be during my exile. They say that the urban hermit turns to the internet in their loneliness. But I never did. The internet is full of people. They hide behind their masks but I can see you underneath. Sad, desperate and pitiful. Professing isolation, demanding connection. Nothing scares you more than being unmasked and how sickening your true forms are. You will never trick me.

I pound my fist on the metal cart and it begins to rattle. I quickly steady it. A waste would do me no good. To scare my family would be worse. I best keep focused. I best not dwell. I pick up a meal. A foreign name, scribbled in my own spiderscratch handwriting, is on the lid. I smile. It’s her favourite. How lucky all the inhabitants of these rooms are to have someone who knows them so closely. Who cares about them so dearly. To think that this world was so closed off to them before…

It’s all because of the disease. When the first reports came out, they were widely considered jokes. Surreal. Confusing. False hope for the weak. But as the news spread, it became harder to consider it as anything but truth. The previous generation feared it. The normal people despaired. But I discovered hope for the first time in years. I, alone, understood the true nature of the thing they called Dreamer’s Disease. A gift. It was a gift from God to the meek and deserving. Those who had seen past the devils veil we call the human world. Those who had the will and desire to seek something better. My own desires, my own prayers, for something greater were heard by the almighty and they responded in turn. I must have shaken their heart. Thawed it. Made them realise that this world wasn’t cynically committed to a perpetual cycle of hollow kindnesses. That’s why I was blessed by this new world.

The fools still feared it, of course. Homes closed, people quarantined themselves. Everyone shut themselves away. But I, for the first time in years, ventured outside into the empty streets. They called it an infection and I wished with all my soul to be infected. In a collapsing society, I found my home.

Take this hotel, for instance. If it wasn’t for the infection, it would still be in use. People bustling through the halls. Workers slaving away and hating their jobs. Guests making demands and lording their wallets. But now the building is filled with the laughter, song and whining of the deserving. There is no pretensions of grandness here. The wallpaper is peeling, the carpet is coated in a thick layer of dust and grime, and the lobby has long fallen into disarray. We don’t care, though. I’m happy to save my money, and the guests in their rooms never come outside. They can’t come out. Even though this place is my sanctuary, it is also a hospital. They are sick after all. Diseased in the most beautiful way, but still diseased. They can’t be allowed to escape into the outer world. For their own sake. There are those who would aim to cure their sickness through death. Beasts and bastards. But here they are safe. Better than safe. Everything I have I put into providing them gifts. Clean clothes, good food, fresh sheets… Though they moan and cry and threaten me… They simply fail to understand how much better their life is locked away in their rooms.

Try as I might, I never managed to contract Dreamer’s Disease. Perhaps my body simply wasn’t right for it to incubate in. Perhaps God hadn’t deemed me worthy. For months, I brooded over this. Sweated over the unfairness. Shed tears. But in time I came to understand that it was all for the best. If I had succumbed to the disease, I would not be able to live amongst my loves. So it is for the better. I came to understand this when Dad got infected.

Shut the fuck up! I can hear one of them banging on their door. Two. Three. Four. Interrupting my thoughts. Which one is it? Junpei doesn’t understand why he’s trapped. It could be him. Haruhi? Her delusions of grandeur… Please be quiet. I focus. Recapture my concentration. Where was I…

Yes. The first stages of Dreamer’s Disease. It takes affect during the REM cycle. Body gets bloated. Starts to sweat. Heartrate increases. Increased vomitting. When Dad started to notice the changes, he caught on right away. He was always sharp. Smart. Expected me to match up. Idiot. He tried to fight it. Figured he could outrun divine intervention. He’d stay up constantly, his body fluctuating between hollowing out and filling up with some inexplicable poison. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands would shake. Medication. Caffeine. He even taped his eyes open. But he couldn’t escape it. He was growing weak. His spirit was breaking. One day he fell asleep.

I reach the end of the hall and wipe the sweat off my brow. There is one room left, but this one is special. Its occupant is new. I take the keys from my pocket. They are tied to the inside with red string so I never lose them. Click click click. I unlock the door. A new patient lies on the bed.

During the final days of the disease you enter a comatose state. Body swells to three… No, four times its size. Turns red. Blood is pumping through it fast. I stood at the end of my Dads bed watching it pulsing. Like a massive blister. No. Not quite. Oval? Egg shaped. Flesh had folded upon flesh had folded upon flesh, growing and coating and coating and coating. Like a scab healing over and over again until it’s hard and safe. Mom couldn’t bear the sight. She ran away from home. The insurance agents told me that she had succumbed to the same infection years later. In those final years, even they had given up, though. Throwing money around like it was the end of days. Checking casually. So maybe she’s alive. Maybe she isn’t. Doesn’t bother me. But unlike her I watched Dads final days without fear.

I enter the room and walk up to the cocoon. I’ve seen this so many times, but I always wish to be there to watch it when it happens. The heartbeat is rapid now. Badump. Badump. Badump. My own is almost as fast. I am ecstatic. The chrysalis is about to burst. Another occupant to keep me company in my garden of eden.

Dad’s body began to split. Dead skin drifting downwards. Flesh splitting at the seams like ripped silk. The birth of a new being. The shell cracked with a sickening wet thud.

The new guest did the same. Their body hatching to reveal their new self. Their reincarnation before my very eyes.

And where my shitty old man once lay, a new body had been recycled into this world. Gentle white hair. Sharp red eyes. A kind but cryptic smile. I recognised him at once. Yes, an angel. He who had stood beside the Third Child and who would now certainly stand beside me! The old bastard had finally spawned something of use! A miracle! A miracle! A miracle!

I watch excitedly to meet my new friend. In three seconds, they’ll emerge from her casing. In ten seconds, they’ll meet their new saviour. In one minute, they’ll recognise me as their truest love.

They’re hatching.

I can’t wait.

Crack…


End file.
